


The Price We Pay

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Mercy Killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: The gods are willing to bring back magic, but there's a price Quentin must pay first.





	The Price We Pay

The gods are willing to give magic back. But Quentin must give something to them first. A punishment for what he took from them. The cost of killing a god.

"Q, don't!" Julia calls from her place, where two celestial hands hold her back. "You don't know what they're asking of you!"

But neither does she. None of them do. But the whole of the magical community is depending on them. Eliot and Margo are depending on them, and quite frankly, Quentin would give his own life if it meant bringing magic back. And getting Eliot and Margo back. Nothing else matters. Not himself, not the price, nothing. He will pay whatever he has to.

He looks back at her, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Jules. I have to."

He isn't sure why he feels sorry. But the cost can't be so little that they both leave here whole. He won't let anything happen to her, but when it comes to him?

They can take anything.

"You don't! We can find another way!"

"There is no other way. This is it." He turns back around, nods to the god. "I'll pay whatever the price is. Just bring magic back. Bring my friends back." Even Penny. Bring them all back, he thinks, staring up at the god on his throne. "Even if they're dead."

The god tilts his head. "You ask a lot, murderer."

"I was protecting my friends," he snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. It's grown too long now, but he hasn't had a chance to do anything about it. Hasn't had time to think about it. Hasn't even cared. "If any of them are dead... there's no reason for me to pay your price, whatever it is."

The god looks thoughtful for a moment. "None of them are dead," he says after a moment of deliberation. "Your friends are alive and well. Even the former niffin."

Quentin swallows down a ball of air, relief flooding through him. "Okay," he murmurs, nodding. "Okay. Then whatever your price. I'll pay it. Just - just send me to Fillory after you do."

"And your friend? Shall I send her as well? You'll need someone to guide your body."

"If you think you can separate us -," Julia starts.

"Jules," Quentin interrupts turning around, "Stop." She opens her mouth like she wants to argue but he shakes his head and her face falls as she slumps in the gods hold. He chews on his lower lip for a second before nodding, small and erratic, to himself and facing the god again. "Let's do this," he mutters, throwing his arms out at his side.

The god stands from his throne, takes the steps down to Quentin. "You are a surprise," he says as he lifts a hand, placing his thumb and index finger on Quentins temples. "It will only hurt for a moment, Quentin Coldwater. Then you will feel peace. And then nothing at all."

So the gods going to kill him. Good thing he'll be too dead for Eliot and Margo to scream at him for walking into an actual murder trap.

Behind him, he hears Julia start to struggle again as the words register. She screams, angry and broken, "No!" The sound catching on the air as it reaches Quentins ears. He closes his eyes, nods for the god to continue.

This is it.

I'm so sorry, he thinks, as a blinding light takes over every thought and vessel of blood in his body. He holds onto the thought as long as he can until there's nothing but blinding white.

And then nothing at all. Just like the god said.

*

Eliot and Margo are talking to Tick when they appear. It's sudden, and all three of them jump a foot in the air. Julia looks up at them, face red and blotchy, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she realizes where they are. A sob bubbles up, out of her chest as she falls to the ground and buries her face in the chest of the person lying on the ground.

The body sobs into breathes, but doesn't move.

Margo is broken out of her shocked trance first, and the sound that rips out of her chest is more terror than joy, when she screams, "Q!" And then she's rushing across the throne room, falling to her knees next to them.

That's when Eliot sees the hair.

"Q?" He staggers to his feet, pushing away from the throne and past Tick to get down the steps. He nearly slips in his urgency, but everything's dark except for Quentin and Julia. "What -," his steps quicken until he's kneeling at Quentins side.

Quentins staring blankly at the ceiling, unseeing, unfeeling. His eyes are clouded over and his mouth is set in a thin line.

"What the fuck happened?" Margo cries, shoving Julia off of Quentin so she can inspect him. "What did you do? You fucking hedge bitch!" She sneers the words, glancing back up at Julia long enough to say them before she looks back down and starts patting at Quentins body looking for the source of whatever's happened to him.

Julia sits back on her haunches, hands laying limp on her lap as Eliots gaze flickers between her and Quentin. "I tried to stop him," she whispers, broke and frail, "but he blamed himself. I - he wouldn't listen."

Eliot swallows, asks the question he's almost too afraid to ask, "What happened, Julia?" He's not sure why he's so calm. But something dark and empty sweeps over him and he's numb. Almost as numb as Quentins gaze is empty.

"The - the gods demanded payment. For Ember and Umbers death. And to return magic."

Margo chokes down a sob beside him, and he reaches out to grab her upper arm. "What was the cost?" He questions, voice trembling.

She looks down at Quentin. "T-true death. Death of mind and soul." She whimpers, looking back up at them, lower lip trembling. "His body lives on but, for all in-intents and purposes . . ." She trails off, tears free falling down her cheeks.

"He's dead."

She nods.

Margo pulls away from them, stumbling to her feet and shaking her head as she points down at his body. "No," she says, "No. I'm not letting this - Where are the fucking gods? I'll kick their fucking -,"

"Margo," Eliot murmurs, hand sliding up her pantleg, clinging to the fabric by her hip. He shakes his head minutely, staring up at her. "Stop." She tries to move back and away, but he holds on until her legs give out and she falls to a crumpled mess next to him.

He looks down at Quentins body, "There's no way to bring him back?" He asks, soft, without looking up.

"No. There's - there's nothing. That was the price."

Eliot nods shakily before lifting one hand and creating the motions of a spell he's only used once before - then it had been about saving the dean, and ultimately, Quentin. Now it's somehow the same, with the same excruciating consequences, but more in mercy than in Anger. Margos breath hitches next to him, but he slices through the air before she can stop him. He clenches his jaw tight, and takes a deep, steadying breath.

He sits back, feeling finally finding its way back to him as something cold and overwhelming crashes over him. A tsunami of anger and pain.

"No," Margo says, crawling forward and placing her hand on Quentins chest, "No! We could have - how could you?" She hisses, turning to look back at him, betrayal clear as day behind her eye. "You're the one in love with him! You can't - you just -,"

Something wet slips over the edge of his eyes as he stands up, wobbly and not at all aware of his surroundings. Everything around him fades to black. "He was already dead," he breathes. He couldn't let him suffer as a shell. He couldn't.

He turns away from them and stumbles through the throne room until he reaches the balcony.

And then he screams, arms extending out into the open, opium filled air, dispelling all the magic in him in a mystic, angry storm. Black clouds form overhead, and heavy, thunderous rain pours out as he screams into the wind. He screams, and he screams, he screams. He screams as his voice goes hoarse and thunder roars in the sky. He doesn't stop until there's nothing left in him, all the magic that's always been neatly rolled up in his veins, leaks out through him into the storm, into the universe. He screams so loud he hopes the gods know what they've done.

  1. And only when there's nothing left in him does he collapse to the ground, broken and withered and empty.



 


End file.
